Snapshots
by Lady-of-the-Refrigerator
Summary: A collection of unrelated one-shots of 1000 words or fewer.
1. Chapter 1

It's been a long day. Not the kind when you fall into an exhausted, satisfying slumber before your head hits the pillow, but the frustrating, trying kind you drink copious amounts of alcohol to forget.

As soon as they return to their hideaway of the moment, Liz all but collapses on the couch in the living room and Red wordlessly sets about preparing glasses of scotch for them both. It's become a routine over the past few weeks whenever they hit a roadblock in their search for Berlin, which is more often than not.

He sets the bottle on the coffee table in front of the couch before he retrieves their glasses and hands her one; he slumps down next to her, careful not to spill his own.

She's lost track of how much they've had to drink by the time he kicks off his shoes and props his feet on the coffee table and the moonlight streaming in the window draws her attention to his socks. They're a rich, deep red that complements her blouse far better than his suit. Somewhere in her drink-addled mind, she wonders if he intentionally matched his socks with her shirt and why on earth anyone would do that.

She's just drunk enough to try to ask him, but instead of an answer, he leans in with an inelegant lurch and kisses her. It's a good kiss as drunken, one-sided kisses go, but she doesn't kiss him back; she's too surprised to even push him away.

He pulls back, rests his forehead against her shoulder for a moment to steady himself.

"I'm sorry," he says, slurring slightly. "I know I'm the last person in the world you would ever consider… And even if I weren't, you probably don't… I know I couldn't even look at anyone that way for months after…"

Her head is swirling and she can barely process what he's saying. With one kiss, he obliterated any lingering suspicion she had that he was lying to her about being her father or using a loophole of technicality or figurative language to avoid a lie. He left her adrift now without an explanation for why he was willing to die for her, willing to kill for her, willing to surrender—_actually_ surrender—only to her.

Well.

Perhaps he _has_ left her with an explanation—handed it to her on a silver platter, really—but it isn't one she's ready to face.

He's oblivious to the internal turmoil he triggered. He makes a noise in his throat like he's fighting off a miserable groan and his eyes seem to have trouble focusing. "I think I need to lie down."

She expects him to stand, hobble drunkenly for his room or maybe the toilet, but instead he curls up on the couch next to her and pillows his head on her thigh. He's asleep before she can protest.

She stares down at him in shock. She should shove him off of her, head back to her own room for a glass of water, a couple aspirin, and some much needed sleep.

She should.

She doesn't.

His hand is between her lower back and the cushions and the heat from it is soothing on her tired muscles. She runs her fingers over his scalp, traces her way down a sideburn; he nuzzles his nose against her abdomen before settling again.

She sighs.

The couch really is too comfortable for its own good.

The couch. Not anything else.

She closes her eyes and lets sleep overtake her, too.


	2. Chapter 2

"So,"—Ressler wrinkled his nose and squinted at Liz—"you lived with Reddington for three months. How did that work?"

Liz sighed. She really needed to find herself a new drinking buddy. Ressler was too chatty and, after he got a few beers in him, much too curious for his own good.

"It wasn't completely horrible," she said. "We were on the same page about a lot of things. And he never left the toilet seat up, so that's a plus."

"Do you miss it? The companionship?" Liz eyed him warily, mentally adding 'entirely too perceptive' to her list of reasons not to drink with Ressler. He shrugged. "I'm not gonna judge you for saying yes. Loneliness is a bitch."

She relaxed infinitesimally, taking a sip of her beer. "You're a good guy, you know that?"

"Hey, if I can't help a friend through a bad breakup, what use would I be?"

Liz snorted. "Tom and I didn't exactly break up."

"I wasn't talking about Tom."

Her stomach dropped and she narrowed her eyes at him. "How did you—"

"I don't know if you noticed, but you guys used to stare at each other all the time. You don't do it anymore. You barely even look at each other and when you do, you both look _really_ fucking sad, if you'll pardon my French." Liz's expression fell. "Yeah, kinda like that," he said, pointing to her face. "So how did it happen?"

"You're nosy tonight."

"I like to live vicariously. Besides, I'm not gonna judge you for it either. I'm starting to understand that you gotta take whatever you can get in life."

"It's a long story," she said, avoiding his eyes. "And personal. Not just for me."

"OK, I get it, you don't like to kiss and tell." He drained the last of his beer and motioned for the bartender to bring another. "Do you think he's in love with you?"

Liz's brows furrowed and she sighed again, curling in on herself. "Probably."

"For what it's worth, I think he has been for a while."

"Did everybody figure that out before I did?"

"Probably. I mean, the guy kinda turned his entire life upside down just for the _chance_ to work with you. For all he knew, you were gonna refuse. What was it that made you realize?"

Liz blushed and pursed her lips. "Nope, sorry, I'm not gonna answer that."

"Fair enough." Ressler watched her, a thoughtful look on his face. "Do you love him?"

She was silent for a long while, running her thumb through the condensation on her bottle. "I shouldn't," she said at last.

"That's not a no."

"No, it's not," she whispered; she didn't trust her voice not to break.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Just something quick inspired by screenshots from S2 promos going around. Probably not really all that spoilerish in the end, but fair warning.

* * *

Liz tightened her grip on her gun and peered through the peephole in the hotel room door. She swore under her breath and wrenched the door open before Dembe could finish picking the lock. Red moved past him into the room as if she hadn't, gun drawn. She raised her own gun in response, keeping it level with the center of his chest.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, breaking into my room? That's a good way to get yourself shot!"

"Opening your door in nothing but a bra and panties isn't much better. You can't expect everyone to fall to their knees in front of you based on your…"—he raked his gaze along her body—"_considerable_ charms alone."

"No, of course not. That's what the gun is for."

Neither Red nor Liz lowered their weapon as they stared each other down.

"Dembe, will you excuse us for a moment? I'm sure Hudson could use some fresh air, or whatever passes for it around here."

Liz rolled her eyes when Dembe complied with little more than a wary look aimed at the two of them. She turned away, purposely ignoring the gun still trained on her to pull her jeans on roughly; when she turned around again, she expected to come face to face with a very perturbed Red, but was momentarily taken aback when she found him kneeling at her feet instead.

He laid his gun on the bed and took off his hat before he reached up to button her jeans and zip her fly, rubbing his hands down her hips to her thighs in a lingering caress when he finished. She ran a hand up his neck and along his jaw, tilting his head back to make sure he maintained eye contact.

"You can't expect me to forgive you every time you fall to your knees in front of me."

"Mmm, but I do so enjoy looking up and seeing your shining face. Can I tell you how flattered I am to discover I'm not the only one?" He nodded towards the hodgepodge of photographs and documents she had pinned to the ceiling over the bed, in which he played a prominent role. For the first time since he burst into the room, embarrassment and self-consciousness flooded her veins and she felt herself flush.

His eyes followed the blush as it worked its way down her chest. He slid his hands back up her legs, splaying his fingers across the small of her back to pull himself closer; his mouth was mere millimeters from her skin, his breaths stirring the downy hairs on her torso, when she dug her fingers into his shoulders to stop him.

"We've talked about this, Red. Nothing above the belt, not without a little reciprocation. You have a problem being shirtless, fine—but if you keep trying to cheat like this, I'm going to find a way to return the favor."

She shoved him away; he caught himself before he could lose balance and perched on the foot of the bed. He watched her finish dressing with a hint of a smirk curving his lips. "Remind me to find a reason for us to go undercover at a certain club I used to frequent as soon as possible. I think you'd enjoy it."

"I'm not going to a sex club with you."

"It's not a sex club per se, but it's nearly as enjoyable. It would give you an opportunity to treat me publicly how you do behind closed doors, without the need for excuses or subterfuge." He stood and began to cross the small room with deliberate slowness; she tried to ignore him while she buttoned her blouse. "Believe me, it can be very… fulfilling."

She glanced up and met his eyes in the mirror. "You're insufferable."

"Insufferable, maybe. Incorrigible, definitely." He pulled her to him by the hips. "This doesn't break any rules, does it? Everything is very much aboveboard and below-the-belt."

"Perhaps we don't need that club after all," he whispered, his cheek against hers and his lips at her ear.

She turned in his arms and walked him back towards the bed, pushing him down onto it and crawling up after to straddle him. He leaned up at the waist, intent on her mouth, but she pressed him back into the mattress.

"One of these days you will let me kiss you," he said, straining against the hand on his chest.

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."


	4. Chapter 4

AN: For future reference, this was written between episodes 2x01 and 2x02, with no regard for spoilers/episodes past 2x01.

* * *

"Hey," Liz said, resting her hand on Red's shoulder. Slowly, he roused from his reverie and glanced up at her. "You shouldn't be here when she wakes up. You shouldn't be here at all."

He forced a sad smile and hauled himself out of the chair, moving in slow motion as if he carried the weight of his guilt heavy on his shoulders. He looked so world-weary it made her heart ache—in spite of herself, in spite of his culpability in what happened to his former wife.

She stopped him when he made to move past her with a hand on his elbow. "Are you gonna be all right?"

"I'll be fine, Lizzy," he said. "This isn't… I appreciate the concern, but you don't have to worry about me."

When she didn't say anything in return, he nodded and started down the hall.

"Red?" He turned back to face her, straightening his hat, sliding his fingers across the brim. "Do you know anywhere nearby that allows dogs? Two nights are up and with all the commotion, I haven't had the time to look."

His face softened and some of the rigidity in his posture faded away. She felt herself relax infinitesimally. It was good to know they could still read between each other's lines.

"Dembe will give you the address. What are you in the mood for?" he asked, his tone more carefree than it had been in weeks. "Indian? Italian?"

"I was thinking Chinese."

"You're always in the mood for Chinese."

She smiled sheepishly. "Seven o'clock OK?"

"Sounds good to me."

She watched him disappear down the quiet hospital hallway towards the elevator and sighed.

"Agent Keen."

Liz started at the sound of the voice and spun around.

"Mrs. Hyland, you're awa—" The words died on Liz's tongue when she met the other woman's disillusioned eyes.

"Lizzy, is it?"

"Liz," she corrected automatically, and suppressed a wince. She realized how bad that sounded. "I, uh… most people just call me Liz," she explained haltingly, digging herself even deeper, "but Agent Keen is fine."

"I need you to make sure he's not allowed back in here."

"I will, ma'am. If there's anything else I can do for—"

"And I would like to request that another agent be assigned to my case."

"Mrs. Hyland…"

"Don't," she said, holding up the hand that wasn't bandaged. "I don't want to know."

Liz swallowed hard. "I understand."


End file.
